


Sammy, I Don't Wanna Know!

by Fenix21



Series: This Is How It Began... [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Belly Rubs, Birth, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Porn, Sick Dean Winchester, Swearing, Wincest - Freeform, graphic birth, gratuitous use of the word fuck, mpreg!Dean, supernatural pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:39:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2799899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/Fenix21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets whammied by a vengeful witch. Same old story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm not sure how much plot there is. I just really needed an excuse to get Dean preggers again. Sorry!

Witches had to be his least favorite thing to hunt.

No two were ever the same. They came in all shapes and sizes, and they were tricky as shit because they were mostly human with just a little extra thrown in on the side. 

“Why can’t you all just have green skin and warts and cackle all the damn time,” Dean groaned. He picked himself off the floor from under a heap of fallen books where the slip of a blond had pitched him against the bookshelves during her last tantrum. Sam was groaning in the corner under a set of dresser drawers. He hoped the kid was okay.

“Why can’t you just leave us the fuck alone!” she roared back, flinging a vase in his direction. 

He had to admit her aim was pretty good. For a girl. Who was a witch. 

“Because,” he said in a mock reasonable tone, “you’re a fucking abomination, and I’ve never met one who abides by all that ‘an it harm none’ crap.”

Sylvia—Sasha? He couldn’t remember. Hadn’t been paying too much attention to anything other than her ass when she walked out of the diner the other night. And that was the other thing—why was it he usually wound up fucking them before he ganked them? He was sure Sam would have all kinds of Freudian reasons prepared if he were conscious enough to offer them.

Dean glanced Sam’s way for a fraction of a second, saw him levering himself upward. Good. He was at least okay enough to be awake. The witch—definitely Sasha, had to be with this kind of temper—threw another vase at his head. He barely dodged it. 

“Jesus, bitch! What’s with the vases?” Another shattered just over his shoulder. “Enough of this shit.”

He pulled his gun out of the back of his waistband and leveled the site on her. One, two shots. Right in the chest. Nice.

But she didn’t go down. Not right away. They never seemed to, witches. One more thing he hated about them. He unsheathed a silver knife from his hip as she shrieked and came at him. He caught her across the throat with it but not before she managed to lip lock him, and he felt her hand slam flat against his belly.

The next thing Dean knew, he was gasping on the floor, the witch was in the wind— _wtf_ to that—and Sam was squatted beside him checking him over for wounds.

“Dean? Dean! You all right?”

“Yeah,” Dean croaked. He coughed, gagged a little, and then let Sam help him sit all the way up. “What the hell happened? I shot her twice!”

“I know. I saw. I have no idea how she managed that. I guess, we’ll just have to hope she’s off somewhere bleeding out.” Sam got a grip on Dean’s elbow and hefted him upward. Dean groaned and doubled over. “You okay?”

Dean flattened a hand against his belly. He felt like he’d done about eight hundred crunches in a row or been hit by a Mack truck, one of the two. He straightened back up more slowly this time. “Yeah, fine. She just got in a hit before she snuffed it, I guess.”

Sam kept his hand at Dean’s elbow all the way to back out to the car.

——

Three days later Dean was still feeling the effects of that hit.

“Jesus, she must have hit me good,” he said, turning sideways in the mirror. “I think she bruised the muscle. Still hurts like a bitch, and look…” He lifted his shirt higher for Sam to see. “I swear it looks swollen.”

Sam frowned over the top of his laptop screen. “Yeah, maybe a little. Might just be too many burgers, too,” he said with a smirk that earned him an empty beer can thrown at his head. “Seriously, though. You all right?”

“Yeah.” Dean tugged his shirt back down and rubbed at his stomach. “Just sore.”

Honestly, he’d been feeling a little off ever since that witch had hit him with…whatever she’d hit him with. He felt like his insides were all messed up and mashed together, like there was a permanent knot in his gut that he couldn’t get rid of, and it was just getting tighter.

“Well, just take it easy, huh,” Sam was saying. “It’s not like anything’s popping up on the radar at the moment. All’s quiet on the western front, and all that.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, just when we start to relax…”

“I know. I know. But really, there’s nothing out there. Even Bobby says its pretty quiet. So just…take a nap or something.”

Dean stretched out on the bed. Nap? Maybe not such a bad idea. He closed his eyes and folded his arms back behind his head. The tug and pull and weight in his gut was distracting though, and he huffed and squirmed several times until he felt the mattress dip beside his hip and a hand splay across his stomach. His eyes snapped open.

“Dude…”

“Just shut up, and let me, okay?” Sam said and started working gentle circles over Dean’s stomach. Despite himself, Dean sighed and felt his muscles relaxing. Sam’s hands were like magic. The good kind, not the witchy kind. They were huge, and warm, and strong. Just one spread out could almost cover Dean’s middle from his lower belly to under his ribcage. 

“Better?”

Dean made a low noise of satisfaction in his throat. Sam gave a breathy laugh, stretched out beside his brother on the bed and continued with his ministrations.

——

A week and a half after the witch, Dean was starting to wonder if every fast-food joint along highway 90 was a petrie dish for salmonella and botulism. 

“Pull over, Sam.”

“Again?” Sam darted Dean a look, took in his nearly green face, and the way he was holding his stomach, and immediately eased the Impala toward the shoulder. The second he had her in park, Dean was out the door and doubled over in the ditch. Sam killed the engine and got out, coming up behind Dean cautiously, ready to catch him if he overbalanced or started to pass out, but letting him have his privacy to retch up the last of his breakfast.

Dean swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and leaned on his knees, spitting and gasping. “I’m never eating again.”

Sam stood back with his hands in his jacket pockets. “I don’t think it’s the food, Dean. I’ve been eating most of the same stuff, and I’m okay.”

Dean didn’t like the idea of actually being sick, but the kid was right. Sam hadn’t had so much as a case of gas in the last few days that Dean had been tossing his cookies every few hours, and sometimes more, having eaten or not. 

Sam’s hand was on his shoulder. “Dean, there’s a town about fifty miles up the highway. How about we stop. We’ll get a room. You can get some rest. Maybe even…see a doctor.”

“I am not going to the hospital, Sam. I’m fine,” Dean growled. He forced himself upright.

“I didn’t say hospital, Dean. I just said a doctor. And you’re not fine. You’ve been throwing up for almost four days straight, and you said last night your stomach was still hurting you. I’m starting to…get a little worried.”

Dean shrugged off Sam’s hand but caught the genuine worry arching between his brows and reached out to squeeze his arm. “All right, Sammy. All right. You win. We’ll stop in the next town. But no doctor.”

Sam’s nostrils flared his dissatisfaction, but he took his brother’s concession as a win. 

—-

They stayed in the next town—a little out of the way place with a nice view of a lake—for about a week. Dean quit vomiting consistently about the third day, but by then he was suffering from a complete lack of energy due to partial dehydration and not having been able to keep anything at all in his stomach. 

“Dude, this sucks,” Dean groused, shifting against the head board, and pulling what was probably pretty damn close to Sammy’s bitch-face number thirteen at the mug of chicken broth Sam had warmed up for him. “I want a burger.”

“Dean,” Sam sighed. “I know you’re feeling better, and I’m glad, but you need to take it slow. You haven’t hardly eaten in over a week. You can’t just toss a greasy, high fat burger on your stomach right now and expect anything good to come of it.”

Dean bitched under his breath as he took a swallow of the bland liquid in the mug. He spread a hand over his stomach and shifted again. He may not be throwing up and living with a permanent case of nausea anymore, but his stomach was still sore and even more swollen. He couldn’t imagine how he could be gaining any weight not having eaten anything hardly, but his waistband was cutting painfully into his belly until he finally gave up and unsnapped it.

Sam was watching out of the corner of his eye.

“I still think we should get you checked out, Dean. The swelling might be due to internal bleeding or something. It would fit with the soreness, too.”

“Ain’t no way that bitch hit me _that_ hard, Sam.” Dean drained the mug and slid down the bed. “Quit worrying. I’m fine.”

“Right,” Sam mumbled.

“Sam, I’ve had a lot worse. You know that,” Dean said in a slightly less gruff tone. “Now. Come over here.”

“What?”

“Come over here,” Dean repeated, rolling onto his side and shutting off the lamp. 

“Why?”

“Because. I want to go to sleep, and I want your dumb ass to come over here and lay down with me. Problem?”

Sam stared. Dean never actively asked to be…cuddled? But that sure seemed like what he wanted now. Sam was dumbfounded, but gift horses and all… He slapped the laptop closed, pulled the drapes, and toed out of his shoes. He slid up onto the bed, pulling the comforter after him, and stretched out all along Dean’s back. He reached under Dean’s arm and settled his hand across his chest, slotting his knee between Dean’s. They lay like that for a few minutes until Dean reached for Sam’s hand on his chest, pulled it downward to rest on his stomach, and Sam started rubbing slow circles without a word. 

Dean sighed and settled into sleep.

——

The next morning Sam woke with his hand still on Dean’s stomach. He spread his fingers carefully, exploring gently so he didn’t wake Dean, and he would have sworn that the curve of his brother’s belly filled the palm of Sam’s hand more fully this morning than it had last night.

Dean’s stomach chose that moment to growl and Sam couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up as Dean came awake to the gurgling sound in the silence.

“Told you I needed a burger.”

Sam shook his head, still smiling. “How about we try an egg and some toast and see how that goes?”

Dean grumbled, but agreed. “Fine.”

Sam went across the street to the local diner and got two orders of scrambled eggs, toast, and some biscuits and gravy for himself and brought them back to the room. Dean was showered and dressed and sitting at the laptop when he got back.

“Find anything?” Sam asked. 

“Nope. Not a thing. Weird. Really weird.” Dean shook his head.

Sam laid out breakfast. 

“Oh, come on, man! No bacon?”

“Not yet.” Sam handed him a knife and a small plastic tub of jam. “You can have jam on your toast, though.”

“Screw you,” Dean muttered, but took the knife and slathered the toast with butter and jam.

An hour later, Sam was still watching him surreptitiously. 

“Jesus, Sam. Stop. Okay?” Dean threw down the book he was reading. Well, kind of reading. He was mostly just dozing over the pages. He’d reread the same paragraph ten times and still wasn’t sure what it said. “I’m fine. I don’t feel nauseas, and I’m not gonna throw up. Now, can I have a—fuck!”

“What!” Sam was out of his chair and kneeling in front of Dean immediately. “What happened?”

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, bent over, hand pressed against his swollen middle. Sam thought he was in pain at first, but the look on his face was a mix of disbelief and terror. Dean moved his hand across his belly, paused, them moved it again, then his eyes shot huge and round.

“Jesus Christ, Sam…”

He grabbed Sam’s hand and held it flat against his belly. Sam shook his head in bewilderment, but then…

“Holy shit.” Sam’s jaw dropped. There was a flutter against his palm and then a soft but distinctive…push.

“Sam, what the hell was that!” Dean was as close to hysteria as Sam had ever heard him. “What the hell’s inside me!”

“Dean, calm down,” Sam said automatically, though right now he felt like throwing up himself from shock and fear. “Just. Calm down. Let me think a minute.”

“Think? Fuck! Get a goddamn knife, Sam. Get this thing outta me!” Dean was trying to scramble back against the headboard.

“Dean, we don’t even know what it is!” Sam roared.

Sam very rarely raised his voice, but it got Dean’s attention, freezing him long enough that some of his brain cells could restart. He blinked at Sam twice, then unraveled a little.

“All right. All right. But we gotta figure out—we gotta get this—fuck, Sam…”

Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulders as he started to list and pressed his head down between his knees. “Breathe, Dean. Deep and slow. Just breathe. I got you.”

Dean sat with his head hung between his knees for several minutes with Sam’s hand working circles between his shoulder blades. Those damn perfect cure-all hands of Sam’s.  Until he could finally sit up without his vision whiting out.

“Okay?”

“Do I look okay?” Dean cut him a look.

Sam shrugged. “Right. Definitely not okay. Look. We’re about two hundred miles from that Dr. Robert you went to see. Maybe he can check you out.”

“Sam, he was a nut job. And not exactly the cleanest place. It was above a butcher shop for Christ sake.”

“It’s the best we have on short notice,” Sam said. “We’re going.”

——

It turned out Dr. Robert had moved on…in a very permanent sense.

“Can I help you?” a pretty brunette, late twenty-something asked when Sam knocked on the door to Dr. Robert’s ‘office’.

“Uh, my brother and I were looking for…is Dr. Robert in?” Sam stumbled a little. 

“He’s dead.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Sorry to here that. We’ll just…”

“You boys hunters?” she asked.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

“Yes,” Sam said cautiously.

She opened the door a little wider. “Then come in.”

They stepped inside and she closed the door. “What can I do for you? Neither of you looks injured.” She was giving them both clinical up and down examinations.

“Are you a doctor?” Dean asked.

“Followed in my father’s footsteps. Yes.”

Dean’s eyebrows climbed a notch higher. “Wow. Okay. Never took him for the married type.”

“Who said he was?” she replied, meeting Dean’s gaze pointedly. He shrugged uncomfortably. She sighed and held out a hand. “Sorry. I’m Marissa. I kind of took over after Dad died. Keep the place going for hunters who need help. Unlike my Dad, I actually have a current license and practice medicine.”

“Oh?” Sam shook the offered hand. 

“Downtown at the free clinic. It’s lucky you caught me. I was actually on my way out.”

“Well, we certainly don’t want to keep you from your work…” Dean started to turn away.

Sam grabbed his sleeve. “Uh-uh. Get back here.”

Marissa looked Dean up and down again. “So, _is_ there something I can do for you?”

Sam glared and Dean reluctantly shrugged out of his jacket. He opened his mouth to explain, but nothing came out, and he turned red with embarrassment. Sam took pity on him.

“About two weeks ago we had a run in with a witch. We thought we finished the job okay, no ill effects, but she landed a hit on Dean, got him in the gut. He’s been sore ever since. He started throwing up a few days later. That stopped about four days ago, but his stomach…” Sam faltered a little.

Marissa nodded and pulled Dean gently to an exam table. “Up, please. Lay back. Take your shirt off.”

Dean shrugged out of his over shirt and laid back. He looked over his head at Sam who came to stand by the bed. Marissa pulled on a stethoscope and then ran her hands along Dean’s sides, across his abdomen, pressing lightly. 

“Anything hurt when I push?” Dean gave a tiny shake of his head. “I feel some swelling. That what you were talking about?”

“Yes,” Sam said. He hesitated. “And…movement. We both felt it.”

Marissa arched an eyebrow. “Movement? Like what kind of movement?”

Sam just shook his head.

Marissa reached for a cart of equipment and pulled it over. “Okay, well, let’s see if a sonogram can show us anything. Could be internal bleeding, but there should have been at least one tender spot to correspond with it. Maybe an infection… Pull your shirt up, uh…?”

“Dean. He’s Dean. I’m Sam,” Sam supplied, realizing they hadn’t introduced themselves.

“As in Winchester?”

“Yeah, that’s us,” Dean said.

“Wow. Dad talked about you two,” Marissa said with a faint smile of disbelief. “Said weird stuck to you like flies on shit.”

“Nice,” Dean muttered.

“Sorry. You two are just something of a legend.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “We know.”

Marissa nodded and flipped the equipment on. “This is gonna be a little cold, okay?” She squeezed a dollop of chilly gel on Dean’s stomach, then unsnapped and unzipped his jeans and tugged them downward so she could get all over his midsection with the gel and transducer. 

“Usually, I get dinner and a drink first,” Dean quipped a little nervously.

Marissa just smirked and set the transducer against his skin. “This might feel a little odd, but bear with me.” She stared intently at the screen while she moved the wand around, stopping every few inches, working her way from under his ribs down. “Everything looks okay. Stomach, upper intestine—.”

“What?” Sam asked when her eyes went wide.

“Well _that_ ,” she pushed the transducer a little more firmly into a spot under Dean’s navel and just to the left, “should definitely not be there. And certainly qualifies as…weird.”

“What? What is it?” Dean demanded, curling his shoulders up off the bed and trying to get a look at the screen.

Marissa pushed the monitor around. “I’d stake my eight years of school and internship that _that_ …is a four month old fetus.”

Dean blinked and tried to decipher the fuzzy black and white image on the screen. His heart was starting to pound uncomfortably in his chest, and his stomach was rolling, forcing acid up the back of his throat. Sam was standing right beside him, totally stricken. 

“As in…baby?” Dean finally managed.

“Yeah. As in healthy looking, human looking, pregnancy that’s about four months along,” Marissa confirmed.

Dean swallowed against the bile. “There is…no way…I’m…pregnant.”

Marissa shrugged a little as if to say, ‘there’s the evidence.’ “You did say you encountered a witch. I’ve never heard of this happening before, but…there’s a first time for everything, I guess. And from what I hear of you boys, you tend to run into those first times a lot.”

Sam shook his head, still dumbstruck. “Yeah, I guess we kind of do.”

“Sam! Snap the fuck out of it!” Dean shoved Marissa’s hand away. “This is _not_ possible. It’s _not_ happening.” He glared at Marissa. “Get it out. Go get your damn scalpel and get cuttin’. Just get it out!”

“Dean, wait—,” Sam started.

“No! I’m not waiting. This is…I don’t know what this is! But it sure as hell isn’t natural, and it’s not happening to me.” He tried to sit up, but the nausea overwhelmed him and he gagged and then retched long and hard into a bedpan that suddenly appeared under his chin. 

“Take it easy, Dean,” Marissa said gently. “Just take it easy.”

Sam had his shoulders, holding him steady while his threw up his guts and then some. When he couldn’t bring up anything more, Sam carefully wiped his mouth and face and pulled him back snug against his chest. “Dean, just relax a minute. Let’s just think this through.”

“Nothin’ to think about, Sam. Not havin’ it. No way.”

“Don’t _want_ it,” Sam asked carefully, “or just not having it.”

Dean stilled at Sam’s words, forced himself to ask the question. Did he _not want_ a baby? Or was he just scared shitless of _this one_. One of his longest running fantasies, contrary to what most people might think of him, was having a family of his own. But the life he lived and the world he lived it in was seriously fucked up, and he couldn’t bring a child into that. Not to mention that the relationship he and Sam had? Not exactly conducive to propagating a big family tree. But if this was to actually happen…

His hand went down to his belly where his shirt had slid down and was sticking to him with the leftover gel. He splayed his fingers. Felt.

“Jesus, Sam…”

Sam’s arms tightened around him. “Dean?”

Dean hunched forward, and Sam was afraid he was going to be sick again, but after a second he realized his brother was crying. “Dean?”

Marissa put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Take a minute you two. It’s a lot to process.”

She backed out of the room.

Sam pulled Dean a little closer, forcing him up and tugging Dean’s head to rest on his shoulder. “Dean. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Not sure, Sammy,” Dean said over a stuttering breath. “Not sure. I think…” He pressed against the swell of his belly. “I think I want it, Sam, but…fuck! It scares the shit out of me.”

“Yeah.” Sam felt lightheaded at Dean’s admission. “Yeah, me, too.” He ran a hand over Dean’s hair, scratched into it gently at the nape of his neck. “But if…if you wanted to try? We could—we could make it work. One way or another. I know we could.”

Dean lifted his chin to look up at Sam’s face. It had been a long, long time since he’d seen that kind of…hope…literally glowing off the kid. Sam wanted this baby. Why, Dean wasn’t one hundred percent on, but it was completely obvious that he wanted it. And that big, impossibly innocent smile with those dimples, and wide beautiful eyes, made Dean think that—yeah—just maybe it could work out. 

He caught Sam’s hand and tentatively brought it down to rest on the low swell of his belly. He sucked in a huge breath. Let it out slow. “Then, I guess…I guess we’re having a baby.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Christmas and all.... I had to up the rating because, well, you just can't get Sam and Dean into a bathtub together and NOT have some porn happen, so.... Happy reading!

It took about a week with daily visits to see Marissa before they managed to nail down a due date and confirm that the baby was not only human for certain…but also Sam’s.

“DNA is completely normal,” Marissa said, to which Sam let out a breath he might have been holding for the last two weeks. “I took the liberty of a blood test, too…and it’s a match for you, Sam.”

It was Dean’s turn to sigh in relief at that one. Not that there was really any doubt. It wasn’t like, for all his flirting, he was screwing around on Sam. The only thing he had worried was that the witch bitch had somehow used her own donation to the cause. Guess it was a fortunate thing he and Sam had had a good go of it that afternoon at the motel…or unfortunate, depending on how you wanted to look at it.

“So, can you project any kind of due date?” Sam asked.

“I think so,” Marissa nodded. “Tentatively, I’d say in about six weeks. Maybe eight. A couple more sonograms next week should solidify that.”

“Jesus…” Sam ran a hand through his hair and down over his jaw. 

“Yeah, it’ll be the shortest human pregnancy in history unless we get another slow down in growth rate later.” She look pointedly at Dean. “It means it’s going to be damned uncomfortable for you, though, Dean.” Dean squirreled up an eyebrow. Marissa explained. “Men weren’t meant to do this anyway. So, it’s going to create a lot of pressure on internal organs. We’re going to have to watch for damage and internal bruising and bleeding. But your body is going to be fighting to adjust and compensate on a physical and hormonal level that’s probably, honestly, going to be downright painful.”

“Great.” Dean slouched down in the cushions beside Sam. 

Sam dropped his arm off the back of the couch and gave Dean’s shoulders a light squeeze. “I’ll help.”

“Really?” Dean peaked an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you presume to do that when I’m the one packing around the magical growing belly?”

Dean’s tone was sharp, and Sam flinched just a little. He shrugged. “I’ll do what I can, I guess.”

Dean shook his head, angry at himself for being so snippy, angry at Sam for looking like a whipped puppy, angry at Marissa for not doing something…anything to make this better. Now.

He had already had to trade up his twenty-eight inch waist jeans for thirty-twos and they were getting more snug by the hour it seemed. Marissa swore the baby’s rapid growth had slowed and evened out, but Dean still felt like an overinflated balloon. His belly was taut and hard and his skin was sore from stretching so fast—and, yeah, he was going to be so pissed if he had stretch marks after this was over. The mound that had fit in one of Sam’s hands at the first of the week now took almost both of them to cover.

Dean had to admit—though only to himself—that about the only time he did feel good was when Sam had his big warm hands spread over his belly, rubbing in loose circles. He probably wouldn’t be sleeping at all at night if it weren’t for Sam and his hands.

“You’re probably going to start feeling a lot of movement in the next few days.” Marissa was still talking. “As uncomfortable as this is for you, it’s going to be just as much so for your baby.” She paused for a second and chewed her lip. “Now… We probably need to talk about how you’re going to give birth.”

“Give birth?” Sam looked startled. “Can he do that?”

“Hell with that!” Dean said, sitting up. “No fucking way am I popping this kid out.”

Marissa held up her hands, patting the air between them palm down. “Not conventionally, of course not. We’ll do a C-section, naturally. We just don’t want you going into labor before. It’ll put too much stress on you and too much stress on the baby. Let me do these next couple ultra sounds and see if I can pinpoint a due date and we’ll schedule something. Have you guys got someplace to hole up until this is over?”

“Actually, we have a friend who’s lending us her cabin for as long as we need it. Up in Sioux Falls,” Sam supplied. Dean looked at him sideways, questioning. “I called Jody the other day.”

“You called Jody,” Dean said slowly. “And told her what exactly?”

“The truth.”

“What the hell, Sam!” Dean rubbed at his eyes. Fuck, but he was tired, and every little thing was hitting a nerve. “It’s not like we need all of creation knowing that I got knocked up by a damn witch.”

“She’s not going to tell anyone, Dean. I made her promise to not even tell Bobby. She wasn’t happy about that, said we were short changing him, but she agreed to it,” Sam said. “She offered us her cabin as long as we needed it.”

“I’ve got a colleague up that way,” Marissa said. “She’s actually an ObGyn. I’ll get a hold of her today and tell her you’ll be up there. You can finish out your term with her if you’re comfortable with that. She’s great, I promise.”

“Whatever…” Dean collapsed back into the cushions and unconsciously rubbed at the side of his belly. He felt like a beached whale, bloated and stretched in the sun. _God damn_ , but ‘uncomfortable’ didn’t even begin to fucking cover it.

Suddenly Sam’s hand was resting beside his, rubbing lightly. Dean felt his cheeks color that Sam was pulling this shit with someone right there watching, but it felt too damn good to make him stop. He had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stifle the little groan of relief that came up his throat. 

Marissa’s lips twitched in a smile she was trying to hold back, but she just swiveled in her chair and made a few notes on the thick stack that had become Dean’s medical file. “Why don’t you boys take off? Dean, get some rest. I’d honestly like to stick you on bed rest, just because we can’t be exactly sure how this is going to go, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t stick to it.”

“No, ma’am,” Dean said with a bit of his old smirk.

“Well, just so we’re clear that hunting or anything even resembling it is off the menu until afterward.”

“Absolutely,” Sam chimed in immediately. 

He gave Dean a subtle hand up from the couch and ushered him out the door with thanks to Marissa.

——

The cabin was cozy. Tucked away from civilization by only about thirty minutes, not so much that it made Sam overly nervous, and Jody had generously stocked it with food, and various other things she thought they might need, including a gift basket of baby items that Sam was fortunate enough to see and hide before Dean made it inside. While Dean was coping with the situation, he was still a long way from accepting it despite his initial reaction that had given Sam a hot spark of hope in his gut; and he was definitely a far cry from being anything close to happy about it. It worried Sam a little, but he was determined to spend the next weeks gently turning Dean’s mood around and getting him to focus on the good things.

The main part of the cabin was a kitchenette separated from the family living room by a rustic oak table and long couch, and down the hallway there was a small second bedroom that Sam automatically found himself fantasizing as a nursery, and at the end furthest from the main area was a nice master bedroom with a kingsize bed—God bless Jody—and an attached bath with, thankfully, a large tub. 

Besides Sam’s hands, Dean was finding out in short order that a hot bath was the best way to alleviate his discomfort. It loosened muscles and lifted up the growing weight in his middle and gave him a few minutes of blessed relief against the pressure. If it were summer, he would probably just go live in the nearby lake.

Sam had turned into some kind of crazy Susie-homemaker and Dean had the very real urge to make him swig some holy water just to be sure he wasn’t possessed. He was nesting like a mother hen, taking up cooking all their meals, trailing after Dean almost every move he made, and responding to every one of Dean’s grunts, groans, moans, and curses with that seriously compressed arch of worry he got between his brows when he was about to go supercritical. 

“Fucking hell…ow!” Dean bit down on a curse and flattened a palm against the front of his belly. 

Sam, true to form, was by his side in less time than it took Dean to shift his weight and try to get his freeloader to quit the kickboxing session behind his bellybutton.

“Dean, you all right?” Sam was kneeling, hovering at his side, palm automatically going to rub circles where Dean’s hand was pressed.

Dean ground his teeth and forced himself not to shove his overprotective brother on his ass because damn if the little squirmer wasn’t quieting down at Sam’s rhythmic rubbing. Dean braced his elbow on the chair arm and pushed back a little. “Damn freeloader…”

Sam looked up, eyes pinched at the corners with hurt. “Dean, I wish you wouldn’t…” Sam bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth. “He’s a person, Dean. Why can’t you…accept him?”

Dean gave a long, exasperated sigh. “Look, Sam. You try waking up every morning feeling like you’re skin is two sizes too small and your belly has grown another fucking inch and your pants don’t fit! Try that and then tell me you’d give two shits about _what_ was actually inside you and that you wouldn’t just want it out.”

Sam sat back on his heels like he’d been struck. His hand stilled on Dean’s belly and the baby made clear his displeasure by forcing a tiny appendage against his palm. Dean swore and Sam swallowed back tears.

Dean didn’t miss the watery look in his brother’s eyes. “Damn it, Sammy…. I’m sorry. Okay? This is all just a bit much for me, you know? I just can’t get used to the idea that it’s actually happening.”

“I get it, Dean. I do. But you’ve got to try at least. This isn’t just another case to solve or bump in the road. This is a whole _new_ road. It’s going to last the rest of our lives.”

“Nice pep talk, Sam.” Dean rolled his eyes. “No pressure there or anything.”

“Dean, you can’t be like this! The baby needs a connection. He needs to know we’ll love him.” Sam’s tears were turning angry.

“Jesus, Sam, why the fuck do you even care so much?” Dean bit out. “You’ve had your damn heart set on this since the second Marissa figured out what was going on. Why? Why is it so damn important to you?”

Sam shoved back, standing and pacing over to the kitchen. Dean waited for the outburst, for more angry tears, and a steady stream of re-criminalizations. None of it came. 

Sam stood in the middle of the floor with his head bowed, hands wringing against each other. “Dean, what do you think we are?”

Dean ground his teeth against a gasp at the sharp pain in his side as the baby made another jab at him. He saw Sam’s fingers twitch, knowing he wanted to come closer, get his hands on Dean’s belly and make it better, but he was too upset and uncertain to do it right now. 

“Right now?” Dean said. “We’re genuinely fucked up. That’s what we are.”

Sam looked like he’d been struck again, and Dean felt another pain, but this one was closer to his heart.

“Dean, we’re…family, but we’re the last. There isn’t anyone or anything after us. When we’re gone? That’s it.” Sam refused to meet Dean’s gaze. “Don’t you want to leave something behind?”

“Have you heard of a time capsule, Sammy? Lot cheaper and less painful,” Dean shot back. Sam flinched. Dean sighed. “Look…I’m just not feeling it. Okay, Sam?”

Sam was on his knees by the chair again. “Then let me help you, Dean.”

“I am not going to talk to it, Sam, or play it music, or read it stories like is in any of your damn books—.”

“Well, you could start by just admitting it’s a _he_ and not an _it_ ,” Sam said.

Dean had reacted less than enthusiastically four weeks ago when Marissa had asked during their last ultrasound if they wanted to know the sex.

“You can see that?” Sam asked.

She’d given him a bit of a ‘duh’ look but smiled anyway at his dopey grin. “Yes, Sam, I can, and with what I’m looking at, some vocation in performance and exhibition may be in h— _its_ future. So?”

Sam had looked hopefully at Dean who had just shrugged a little uncomfortably and looked away into the corner. A little crestfallen at his brother’s reaction, but still anxious with anticipation, Sam had given a nervous nod.

Marissa smile indulgently. “It’s a boy.”

Sam’s hand spasmed around Dean’s in his excitement, and it was all he could do not to bounce on the stool he sat on. For his part, Dean had just lain quietly and kept his eyes averted from the screen that prominently displayed his baby’s gender. What Sam had believed would make it easier for Dean to feel better about this situation and at last start to identify with their child, had almost had the reverse effect and made him moodier and even less inclined to allow any kind of personification of the life inside him.

“Sam—.” Dean’s tone now carried a note of warning.

Which Sam ignored. “Jesus, Dean. This is a new life we’re talking about! I thought we wanted this. I thought we agreed—.”

“You fucking wanted it, Sam—.”

“Don’t lay this on me! I would have—.”

Sam was cut off by Dean folding over in the chair, breath coming out of him in pants, sweat suddenly standing out at his temples. All the anger drained out of Sam, was chased out by the tidal flood of concern that came up like acid in his veins. He grabbed Dean’s shoulders.

“Dean? Dean, what’s wrong?”

Dean dragged in a breath, got it punched out of him by a sudden kick to his insides, tried again with a little more success. He propped himself up on the arm of the chair and pulled one of Sam’s hands off his shoulders and brought it down flat on the curve of his belly. 

“Damn kid doesn’t like us arguing,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

‘Damn kid’ was not exactly the endearment Sam had hoped for, but it was a step up from ‘it’, so he bit his tongue and started a slow circle massage where Dean had laid his hand. Dean slowly unraveled under the ministrations and was able to sit back up after a minute.

“Dean, why don’t you let me run you a bath?  You know how that helps.”

Dean was on the edge of telling Sam to go to hell. He didn’t need a damn bath, he needed this squirming…whatever…out of him. His insides were bruised and battered and he was pretty sure his stomach was never going to look the same again no matter how many curls he did when he finally got his body back to himself. He felt heavy and ugly, and he hurt all the time, and…. _God damn it!_ Now he was fucking crying. Again!

Sam didn’t say anymore. He didn’t even wipe the single trail of tears from Dean’s cheek, knowing it would just get him a slap—maybe even a punch—and some caustic retort and then probably Dean storming out of the room and not letting Sam run him that bath that he obviously needed even if he didn’t want to admit it. He took Dean’s elbow firmly and helped him up. It wasn’t that Dean wasn’t strong enough, or even that his belly was that big at the equivalent of nearly eight months, but his center of gravity had been seriously messed up almost since the very beginning. Men weren’t equipped to do this sort of thing in ways that had never even occurred to either of them apparently. 

They made their way down the hallway to the master bedroom, Dean grumbling most of the way. Sam sat him down at the foot of the bed with a command to strip while he went and started the water running. He turned it up hot because that’s what Dean liked, even if a lot of the books he read warned about too hot baths. He wasn’t about to try and limit one of the few source of relief Dean had right now. He came out of the bathroom with Dean’s robe and—as expected—Dean was still dressed and sitting on the bed.

Sam sighed heavily and held up the oversized robe and turned his head away. “Dean, this is ridiculous. You realize that, right?”

“I look like a fucking whale, Sam.”

“You do not,” Sam said immediately. “And even if you did, it’s hardly your fault. Marissa even said she _wanted_ you to put on weight. You haven’t gained a pound, Dean.”

“I’ve put on ten.”

“Which means you’ve probably lost almost that much in reality because by now you should have put on at least a comfortable twenty with just baby weight alone.” Sam’s eyes flicked over when Dean gave a whispered curse as he tried to shove his sweatpants off, and he caught sight of Dean’s tight, round belly—too small and hard in his opinion—before he jerked his gaze back front. 

“Whatever,” Dean said, carefully pushing to his feet and letting Sam drape the robe around him. He made to take a step forward but Sam kept a hold of the robe.

“You realize you’re beautiful to me,” Sam whispered.”Always.” His cheeks went pink with the admission.

“Christ, Sammy…” Dean rolled his eyes and turned away.

Sam followed him with his head bent.

The water was steaming and Dean almost moaned at the sheer pleasure of it as Sam steadied him while he stepped over the edge and then helped him lower his awkward weight into the water. The second his belly broke the surface, he did moan. 

“Jesus, Sam, you have no idea how fucking wonderful this feels.” Dean leaned back into the water that came well up his chest and let the buoyancy of it hold his belly up and take the pressure off all his mashed and squished up innards.

“Better than sex, I bet,” Sam teased sadly.

“Damn close.”

Sam stayed at the side of the tub for a few moments while Dean closed his eyes and visibly relaxed into the water. He kept his head turned away when Dean was watching, but when he shut his eyes, Sam gave into temptation and got his fill.

Dean was a beautiful specimen, as far as Sam was concerned, had been all his life. Dean was one of those that just kind of skipped the ‘kid’ look and went straight to rugged, handsome jock in junior high. Sam had been drooling over him since he could hold an erection at the age of twelve, and jacking off to his brother’s finely cut physical prowess for only about six months less. He couldn’t imagine Dean looking anything less than the most desirable thing on earth to him.

It hurt that Dean had denied him anything more than the therapeutic belly rubs that seemed to unfailingly calm their over active son in the last few weeks because Dean felt he was too ugly to be looked at or touched. Sam had never thought his brother lacking in the self confidence arena, but then he’d always been a tiny bit vain about his good looks, so maybe it was to be expected. Sam just wished that there was some way he could convince Dean that the perfect round curve of his belly was the biggest turn on to date that Sam had ever discovered.

There might be only one thing to do.

Sometimes the most stubborn of the Winchester brothers just needed a good shove in the right direction.

Sam dropped the robe on the wood floor and shed his t-shirt and jeans and boxers and stood by the tub for a second completely naked. 

“Sam, I don’t need an audience,” Dean growled without opening his eyes. 

Sam moved around the back of the tub and hoisted himself up on his arms, swinging his feet forward and sliding them into the water on either side of Dean. “How about a participant?”

“What the fuck—?” 

Dean sat up in surprise and Sam dropped into the water behind him, gasping a little at the prickly heat. 

“There, that’s better,” Sam said.

“Sam! What the hell are you—?”

Sam wrapped one long arm down over Dean’s chest and tugged him backwards. Dean huffed an aggravated breath but didn’t fight for very long before settling in against Sam’s broad chest with a few punctuated grumbles. Sam dropped his arms down and threaded them up under Dean’s so that he could spread his palms flat on either side of his brother’s belly. 

He started to stroke gently, down the middle over the steepest curve and then rounding out and coming up the sides, again and again. He could feel Dean relaxing further and further into him, muscles unknotting until nearly every breath was coming out a musical little sigh. 

“Better?” Sam whispered.

“Mmm,” Dean hummed his accent. 

Sam rested his cheek against the side of Dean’s head. “I know you don’t believe me, but this…is seriously the most sexy thing I think I’ve ever seen.”

Just to be sure Dean was convinced of his honesty, Sam rocked his hips forward and slotted the hard ridge of his erection between Dean’s cheeks.

“Jesus, Sammy…you could stab somebody with that thing,” Dean teased in a slow voice. 

Sam cupped the underside of Dean’s belly and lifted it gently. Dean gasped.

“Dean?” Sam started to release him afraid he’d caused pain instead of pleasure.

“No!” Dean grabbed Sam’s wrist. “No, don’t stop. God…that feels…amazing.”

Sam repeated the movement, lifting the weight of Dean’s belly between his hands and holding it. His chest tightened up suddenly as he realized this could be considered the very first time he’d _held_ their son. 

“Sammy?”

“Hmmm?”

“You okay?”

Sam nodded into Dean’s hair. “Fine.”

Dean tilted his head back to get a glimpse of the sheen in Sam’s eyes that was _not_ caused by the heat of the bath. “Dude, you’re such a girl,” he said, but he was smiling. He moved his head to the side so that he could plant a kiss on the underside of Sam’s jaw. “Sammy, I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass recently. This is all just…a lot to take in, you know? And I know I’ve been doing a shit job of it, but it’s pretty fucking scary if you think about it.”

Sam returned the kiss to Dean’s temple. “I’m scared, too, you know. Pretty much shitless.” Sam gave a dry little laugh. “But we decided to do this, and I know that we can. I just wish you could feel better about him.”

Dean squirmed a little at Sam’s use of ‘him.’ “I know you want me to… _bond_ with this kid…or somethin’, but right now all I can think about is getting him out of me so I can take a deep breath, or get across the floor without loosing my fucking balance, or not have to get up six times a night to take a pee, or just to be able to sleep a whole damn night through! He’s a pain in my ass, and some days I mean that literally.”

“ _He_ is, huh?”

“Yeah. He is.”

Sam smirked and brushed his lips against Dean’s temple again. Wait for it…

“Oh, fucking hell…” Dean groaned. “All right. You win, Sammy. But I’m still not reading _him_ any bedtime stories.”

Sam laughed softly. “Not yet, anyway.”

Dean shook his head and let it rest back on Sam’s shoulder. Sam went back to alternately rubbing large circles over Dean’s belly, and gently lifting up the weight of their baby between his huge palms and holding it for a slow count of ten. He tried not to think about how hard he was, or how much he ached to just rock himself against Dean’s buttocks to alleviate a little of the longing. He was trying so hard, in fact, that he didn’t notice Dean’s hand slipping down between his own thighs, and therefore almost missed the lust filled whisper,

“Sam, if you wanna…? You could, uh…”

Sam didn’t need any more encouragement. He shifted down in the water, lifted Dean a fraction and let his dick slot between Dean’s thighs, rubbing up past his balls and sliding along the underside of Dean’s own erect flesh. 

Sam groaned, long and hard. His fingers tightened and flexed on Dean’s belly and Dean gasped.

“Holy God, Sam!”

“Dean, I—.” Sam stuttered over a breath and groaned again as Dean fisted them both tight between his legs. “Dean, it’s been… _oh, fuck_ …too long. I don’t think I can…Jesus…”

Sam’s hips were rocking forward in long, smooth thrusts, pumping into Dean’s fist. He was on the short countdown to a mind-blowing orgasm just by dint that all he’d had for the last month was a couple of quick hand jobs when Dean had wanted to sit outside in the fresh air for awhile, and Sam had been able to escape to the bathroom at the other end of the cabin for a few minutes. 

“Me, too, Sammy,” Dean panted, speeding his pace. “Fuck… _oh, yeah, that’s it_ …me, too, baby boy.”

Sam’s mouth found the side of Dean’s neck, and he latched on, setting his teeth into flesh just this side of painful. He splayed his hands over Dean’s belly, rubbing and circling. “Jesus, Dean, you’re so hot…. Your belly, all round, and big, and… _oh god!_ …just so damn perfect. I love it, Dean. I love the weight of it…the way it fills my hands.”

Sam was on the edge now, gasping as Dean jerked them both so hard that water was waving up and splashing out onto the floor.

“Gonna come, Sammy,” Dean growled. “Oh _fuck,_ gonna come so hard…”

Sam tipped over at the words, gulping a breath just before he came in Dean’s fist at the end of a stuttering thrust. Dean was right behind him, groaning hard into the orgasm and coming with his chest curled forward over his belly, and his arm having come up and around his middle to cover Sam’s groping hands and cradle his own weight. 

Sam dropped deeper into the water, sloshing it up over the sides, breathing heavily. He looped an arm up under Dean’s and tugged his limp boned body tighter against his chest and let his own head fall to rest against the porcelain of the tub.

“Holy shit, Sammy,” Dean breathed. “That was fucking amazing.”

Sam gave a weak laugh. “Just because we haven’t done it for a while.” Dean shrugged but didn’t say anything. They lay in the water just on the edge of dozing, Sam securely holding Dean up against him, one hand against his chest, the other absently stroking the swell of his belly. Finally, he roused enough to say, sleepily, “Water’s going to get cold soon.”

Dean made a noncommittal noise in his throat. Sam started to lift them both out of the water, but Dean whined a little, and he subsided.

“Not yet, Sam. Just a few more minutes. Feels…good.”

Sam waited another ten minutes, even toed on the hot faucet to run for a bit and try and rewarm the water until it was nearly spilling over the edge of the tub and finally his flesh was starting to pimple with the chill.

“Dean, you’re going to cramp if you don’t get out of the water.”

Dean gave a kind of mutated grunt-growl and let Sam heft them both upward, reaching for towels with one hand while he kept a steadying grip on Dean with the other.

Once they were dressed again and Dean was settled back on the couch with a light blanket, Sam warmed them up left over goulash that he had made a huge pot of the day before. He brought the steaming bowls into the living room and settled in beside Dean.

“Dean,” Sam started slowly, keeping his eyes on his bowl. “I don’t expect you to jump up and down about this, you know. I was only hoping you would…”

Dean closed his eyes, fighting back the waspish retort on the back of his tongue, knowing it was mostly due to being weighed down again and already feeling the active stirrings that were a prelude to a session of bruising gymnastics in his belly.

“Sam, can we just eat. For now.”

Sam ducked his head and nodded. Dean sighed.

“I’m sorry, Sam.  Really. I mean it. I’m gonna try. I will, but you have to realize…”

“Realize what?” Sam asked carefully.

Dean sighed again and set his bowl down. “Sam, did you give any real thought to what we were doing here? Did you get beyond the ‘this might be my only chance to have a family’ excitement and really think about what it means to bring a kid into this world.”

“People do it every day, Dean.”

“Yeah but they don’t know half the shit we do about what can go bump in the night.”

“It’s not much different, Dean, if you think about it. I’m sure they have their own fears and stresses and strains,” Sam said.

“But not stuff that lives in their closets and can kill them,” Dean retorted.

“There’s other stuff that can kill them—us—just as easily, that we don’t think about because we live in a different world with threats that we consider a lot more dangerous. But it all comes down to the same thing, Dean. It’s always a risk, a chance, and it just happens to be one that I’d rather take and lose than never attempt.” Sam reached out and squeezed Dean’s knee. “I told you. I’m freaked out, too. But we can do this.”

Dean frowned and shook his head, in denial or just at Sam’s stubborn refusal to see what Dean felt was reality closing in on them, Sam wasn’t sure. He settled back with his bowl and they continued eating in silence. 

“Marcus,” Dean said quietly after a while as Sam was scraping the last of his goulash out of his bowl.

“Sorry?” Sam paused with his spoon half way to his mouth.

Dean didn’t look up. He just stared at his bowl between his hands. “I want to call him Marcus.”

Sam bit his lip hard, clamping down on the fierce and sudden ache in his chest and forcing himself to smile—just a little—and say as evenly as possible past the huge lump of his heart in his throat,

“Okay…okay. I like that. Marcus it is.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally...yes, we come to the birth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry...I did it again. Yes, there's more porn. I just couldn't help myself. I'm so pathetic...

Despite Dean’s warming to the life inside him enough to bestow a name on him, Sam found it difficult to convince him to engage in any real bonding activities. He did relent and allow Sam to do a little shopping, at  least for the necessities and let Jody bring over her son’s old crib which Sam installed in the spare bedroom. The gift basket Jody had left on their initial arrival, Sam slowly filtered in with the items he brought back on his supply runs, so as not to rouse Dean’s suspicion or ever shortening temper.

They were coming up on Marcus’ due date fast. The C-section with Marissa’s colleague, Dr. Eliza Balister, had been scheduled for a month for next Thursday at nine in the morning at the hunter’s clinic two towns over where Eliza worked on her days off. That was six days away, and no matter how much placating Sam did about the ease of the operation and how Dean wasn’t going to have to suffer any more than some staples and sore abs for a few weeks afterward, his brother wasn’t mollified.

The increasing pain probably had a lot to do with it, too.

When Sam wasn’t prepping the nursery—though Dean wasn’t willing to call it that aloud yet—or shopping, or cooking, or doing some other necessary thing, he was on the couch with Dean propped between his thighs, broad palms flat on his brother’s belly, massaging circles there for sometimes hours on end. 

Dean had let Sam feed him up a bit and put on a few more pounds, but the size of Dean’s belly was still disturbingly small for his advanced pregnancy, at least compared to what a normal human pregnancy should be, but then Sam had to admit this was anything but normal. Either the baby wasn’t very big, or his position in Dean’s middle was such that he was taking up most of his room elsewhere which was probably contributing to Dean’s heightened pain levels. He wasn’t able to sleep lying down at all anymore, the compression on his lungs and other organs leaving him nearly breathless, and he could barely sit or stand for longer than ten minutes at a time. Sam had made long, hot baths the order of the day at least twice a day, one of which he usually joined Dean for, though any more rounds of frantic sexual release were discontinued due to Dean’s increasing and constant discomfort.

Today, Sam was hanging the curtains in Marcus’ room. They were plain and dark navy blue. Dean wasn’t having with anything that overtly screamed ‘baby’. The room was pretty simple and spartan compared to what Sam supposed an average nursery would look like, but he’d found an AC-DC poster and a Led Zepplin tour poster at a local flea market, and Dean had allowed those to be hung on the wall. What few outfits Sam had gotten, mostly from thrift stores and a few lucky garage sale strikes compliments of Jody, were plain solid colors or stripes, but no cutsie bears or kittens or anything of that ilk. Sam had a couple onesies with monster trucks hidden away in a drawer. He figured Dean might eventually give in on those.

Dean’s slow, now cautious gait down the hallway prompted Sam to call out. “How’re you doing, Dean?”

Dean had been pacing a lot today. Up and down, he couldn’t seem to get comfortable anywhere. Sam had offered a massage and Dean had finally relented, but hadn’t been able to sit still very long even for that which alarmed Sam to a small degree since that had so far been his one source of relief besides a bath. Sam had felt the frequent spasm of muscles under his palms as he worked over the curve of Dean’s belly, but that had been happening a lot lately probably because they were getting so close to the due date.

“Fan-fucking-tastic, Sammy,” Dean said from the doorway.

Sam turned to look over his shoulder as he set the curtain rod into the holder above the window. Dean was leaning heavily into the frame, one hand spread against the under curve of his belly, the other holding him upright. He was pale, but not much more so than he had been lately, and sweating a little. Sam pulled the curtain back with its tie and turned to Dean.

“I’d tell you you should be sitting down,” he said dolefully, “but I don’t think it would help you.”

Dean gave a tight shake of his head. His lips were compressed like he wanted to say something but was afraid or unwilling to ask. 

“What?” Sam took a step forward, ready to do anything that would help ease the pain.

Dean shrugged a little and looked down at his rounded middle, slightly smaller than a junior league basket ball, but huge to him nonetheless. He hated admitting to any discomfort. John had taught his boys to smile in the face of death and shake off pain like so much rainwater. Dean had been shot, slashed, bitten, broken, and repeatedly gutted in Hell, and yet he couldn’t seem to endure the pain of being kick boxed from the inside out by his own kid.

“Sam…would you…?”

Sam didn’t make his brother ask any more than that. It was torture enough for Dean to give in and ask at all. He gently turned Dean toward the wall where he leaned in at about a thirty degree angle and braced himself on his forearms while Sam took up position behind him and reached around to lift up on the weight of his belly.

Dean moaned in relief. “Jesus, Sam…thank you.”

“No problem,” Sam said softly. 

It was one more trick they’d come up with in the last couple of weeks to help alleviate the building pressure on Dean’s insides. It was a little rough on Sam’s lower back, but he wasn’t about to complain given the situation, and he secretly liked it anyway, because for just a few minutes he was actually holding the full weight of their son in his hands.

“Dude, you’re not crying again are you?” Dean asked.

Sam huffed a soft laugh. “No. I’m not.”

“Good,” Dean nodded against his crossed arms. “We don’t need both of us getting all mushy.”

Sam could hear the teasing smile in Dean’s voice, and he slowly stroked his thumbs along the sides of Dean’s belly while still keeping up the counter pressure and lifting upward. He splayed his legs a little and settled his hips directly behind Dean’s and scooped them forward just a bit.

Dean sighed at the feel of Sam’s half-hard erection pressing invitingly against his buttocks. “Give a pregnant guy a break, would ya?” he teased.

Sam smiled against Dean’s ear. “Have been. Can’t wait till this little bundle’s on the outside, so I can give it to you again, Dean.”

“Fuck, Sam…” Dean brought a hand down to press against his own cock that was quickly starting to tent out his sweats. 

Sam breathed warm against the side of Dean’s neck. “Want it, Dean?”

Dean sucked in a breath, pressed harder against his now very interested cock. “You know I do, baby boy.”

“Let me?”

Dean shook his head. “Sam, I want to. I really do, but…”

“Just. Touch yourself,” Sam whispered. He kept his hands on Dean’s belly, still taking the weight, giving his brother the much needed relief, but he scooted forward just a little more and slotted his now very hard cock in the groove of Dean’s ass and pressed firmly, rocking just a little.

He leaned forward over Dean’s back, whispered in his ear again. “Stroke it, big brother. Long and slow.” Dean put his hand down his pants and followed Sam’s instruction. He gripped his thick cock hard and stroked, already feeling a dribble of cum at the slit. “That’s it, Dean. Keep stroking. Get good and wet. That’s it. Slick it up.” Dean groaned heavily and swiped his thumb over the thick, sticky fluid dripping from his swollen head and used it to slick his strokes just like Sam said. “God, Dean. Want you in my mouth. Wanna suck you good and hard,” Sam whispered harshly. “Want you inside me, big and thick, stretching me good, till it burns. Fuck…”

“Sam, I—.” Dean was panting, his strokes on his cock quickening rapidly, hips rocking in a tight rhythm between his hand and Sam’s hard length behind him.

“’S okay, Dean. Just let it happen. Just think about stuffing me full with that huge cock.” Sam grunted and ground his hips forward. “So full, Dean. Jesus, I want to be so full of you…”

“Sammy!” 

Dean’s voice was pitched low on a growl. His tempo was going erratic and his hips were locked forward. Sam could feel the ripple of muscle under his palms and knew it was only a matter of seconds. He went in for the kill.

“Want to feel you come inside me, Dean. Come so hard and so much I can’t take it all,”  Sam gasped out.

“Fuck!” Dean spat out the curse and came in a series of arrhythmic thrusts and stuttering, gulping gasps. Sam was a second behind him, come saturating the front of his jeans and back of Dean’s sweats.

They hung there against the wall, most of Dean’s weight still in Sam’s arms, gasping and shaking until Dean tensed and let out a low hiss.

“Dean?” Sam shifted, making sure all his weight was off his brother’s back, and readjusted his hold on the weight of his belly. He felt a tightening under his palms. Another cramp. “Shit…Dean, I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Dean waved off the apology. “It’s fine, Sam. Felt…really good, actually. Thanks.”

Sam laughed drily. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

“I think maybe a bath to get cleaned up?” Dean suggested, his voice still a little hoarse.

“Good idea.” Sam smiled.

 

By the time they crawled out of the bath, it was early evening, and Sam insisted on a light dinner, though Dean claimed not to be hungry. They sat afterward in the living room in relative silence, until a gasp from Dean broke it,

“Ow. Fuck.” Dean pressed a hand against the side of his belly.

“Dean, you okay?” Sam looked up from the book in his lap. “Time for another massage?”

Dean gave a quick shake of his head. “Sam…I think all those cramps I’ve been having today?”

“Yeah…?” Sam’s blood pressure suddenly jumped a notch in dread anticipation of the end of that thought.

“I think maybe…God! Damn it…” Dean curled forward with a hissed breath. “Yup.”

“‘Yup,’ what?” Sam asked anxiously, putting aside his book and sliding down onto his knees to reach out a hand to feel Dean’s taut belly. It was hard. Really hard. Harder than it ought it be. “Dean…”

“Contraction, Sammy,” Dean gritted through clenched teeth. “Fuck! Bad one…” He hunched forward again, and this time Sam could feel the tightening of muscles under his palm.

“Jesus, Dean! Why didn’t you say something?” Sam lurched upward and started looking around for his phone. They had to get to the clinic. He had to get a hold of Eliza because this wasn’t the plan. Dean wasn’t suppose to go into labor.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know?” Dean bit out. “Not like I’ve ever been in labor before.”

Sam swore softly, finally found his phone, thumbed it to life as Dean let out another hiss of pain that ended on something close to a moan, and hit Eliza’s speed dial. The line rang and kept ringing. 

“Shit,” Sam muttered. “Dean, didn’t Eliza say she was going out of town this weekend?”

Dean gave a sharp nod. His jaw was locked up around a groan. “Hiking. Up in the mountains,” he managed tightly. 

“All right. Plan B.” Sam dialed Marissa’s number. She picked up after the fourth ring.

“Hey, Marissa. Sam Winchester…Yeah, sorry it’s kinda late. We’ve, uh, got a problem…Dean’s in labor…Yeah, pretty sure….Don’t know, but he said he’s been cramping all day…Eliza’s out of town. The C-section wasn’t scheduled for another six days…Okay, yeah. Yeah. I’ll head that way.”

Sam dropped the phone in his pocket and reached down to take Dean’s arms.

“Head what way? What the hell are we doin’, Sam?” Dean demanded.

“We’re going to meet Marissa half way. She gave me the address of another clinic a couple hours away that she used to work at. She’s going to meet us there. Do the C-section.”

“A couple hours? Sam, I don’t think—Jesus, fuck!” Dean pitched forward, grabbing onto Sam’s shoulder with one hand and wrapping his other arm around his belly. He huffed through the pain, sweat starting to stand out on his brow and run from under his hairline at the back of his neck. When he could breathe again, he said, “Sam. Ain’t no way we’re gonna make it that far.”

“Why?”

“Couple hours ago…when I went to the bathroom, I think…”

“Oh, Christ…Dean! Your water broke, didn’t it?” Dean gave a quick nod, still keeping Sam’s shoulder in a death grip. “What the hell? You need to tell me these things! It’s important!”

“Didn’t know, Sammy. Never really done this before. Remember?”

Sam just shook his head and worried his bottom lip with his teeth. He could do a lot. He could slice, dice, cut, set, and sew back together, but he was _not_ sure he would be able to cut into Dean’s belly if it came to that. On the other hand, Dean couldn’t give birth, so what choice would he have?

“Just…hang on. Breathe…or something,” Sam ordered, hefting Dean upward. “Because we are going to make it to the clinic.”

——

They made it about forty minutes out before Dean suddenly thrust a foot into the bottom of the wheel well of the Impala, turned the air hyperthermic with a particularly cutting series of expletives and thrust his hips forward on the seat, thighs spread far apart.

“Dean?” Sam looked over at his laboring brother. “Dean, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Dean huffed a breath, groaned heavily, and curled around his belly which was suddenly looking even harder, smaller and lower down than it had been only twenty minutes ago. “Sammy… Not gonna make it. Not. Gonna. Make it…” 

He groaned again and curled forward harder. Sam heard a grunt at the end and shot out a hand to drag Dean’s shoulders back against the seat.

“Dean, are you…pushing?” Sam asked in astonishment.

“Think so, Sammy. Yeah,” Dean gasped, grunting again with another pain that bunched up low in his back and crawled around to his belly button with so much pressure behind it he felt like he was going to implode. 

“You can’t!”

“Don’t…exactly have a…choice here, Sam. Jesus!” Another contraction had Dean’s foot up on the dash, hips straining forward and apart, and him curling forward over the swell of his belly.

“Dean, you can’t. You _cannot._ Physically. _Cannot_ ,” Sam said. 

Dean fought to catch his breath. “Sam, this baby is comin’. Don’t think he cares how… _holy shit_ , that hurts!”

Dean grunted and strained forward, sweat running in tendrils down his temples.

“Dean, stop…just stop! Before you…rupture something, or…something!” Sam commanded. “You cannot have this baby!”

Dean slammed his fist against the door in the throes of another contraction and then yelled back, “I’m tellin’ you, Sam…this baby is coming. Now. So, pull the fuck over and— _fucking hell!_ —help me.”

Sam shook his head adamantly. “No. No, Dean. We’ve got to get you to the clinic so Marissa can do the C-section.”

Dean reached over and grabbed Sam’s hand off the steering wheel. “Sam, I’m serious, man. You’ve _got_ to pull over. I am havin’ this baby. Right now.”

Sam shuddered as Dean got lost in another contraction, splaying his knees even further apart like he was making room, trying to open himself up wider, but he gave up and did as Dean demanded and pulled off the highway at the next exit. 

There was nothing except a sign declaring the next tiny middle-of-nowhere town was twenty more miles up a road that looked just one step up from dirt. He killed the engine and turned to Dean in the seat.

“Dean, please, listen. I know you think you’re going to have this baby, and it sure as hell probably feels like it, but you can’t. You just physically and biologically can’t!”

Dean growled with the onset of another contraction, belly visibly hardening and distorting with the tightening of his muscles. Sam’s heart lodged in his throat when his brother finally cried out with the pain. He put out a hand, feeling Dean’s hard belly. Their son was in there, fighting to get out, and Dean was suffering. Sam needed to help, but he didn’t know how.

Apparently Dean’s instinct did.

Dean shoved at the waistband of his sweats, squirming out of them before the next contraction could paralyze him again. He gestured impatiently for Sam to get out and come around the side of the car. Sam obeyed and when he got to the passenger side, Dean had slid across the seat, bringing one leg up and leaning into the driver’s door, gripping the steering wheel for support. Sam got down on his knees on the hard asphalt and leaned in across the seat.

The dome light didn’t offer a whole lot, but it was enough for Sam to almost jerk back in astonishment at what he saw. The witch had apparently been extremely thorough in her spell, allowing for nature to take its course to the complete and _natural_ culmination of childbirth.

“Jesus, Dean…” He blinked and stared at the addition to Dean’s anatomy. It was a wonder Dean hadn’t figured this out when his water broke. “Did you know you had a—.”

“Shut up, Sam! Don’t wanna know,” Dean ground out. “Really don’t. Just…get him out!”

Dean pulled up and forward on the steering wheel, grunting and pushing through the next contraction while Sam watched in rapped astonishment as a small wet patch of dark hair strained downward with his efforts, stretching and spreading Dean in a way that Sam had previously thought absolutely impossible. Dean’s balls were drawn up nearly inside him and this new, fresh, angrily stretched looking opening just behind them was steadily bulging outward as their baby’s emerging head pushed against it.

Sam gulped and tentatively reached out to touch the tiny patch of wet hair. “Holy…Dean? You’re having  a baby.”

“I _know_!” Dean curled forward again, one hand yanking hard on the steering wheel, the other physically pushing downward against the top of his belly. “Sam, I think…fuck! Burns…fucking burns, Sammy!”

Sam saw the opening straining again with Dean’s grunting pushes and the patch of dark and wet got bigger, stretching Dean impossibly and painfully wide. “I can see why. I mean if you—.”

“Don’t. Fucking. Wanna. Know. Sammy!” Dean shouted. 

“Right. Right…” Sam got a trembling grip on Dean’s inner thighs and urged them outward even further. He’d read a lot on pregnancy to catch up on what was best for Dean and their son, but he’d kind of skimmed over the birth process because he’d assumed they were going to be skipping that part. So, he was a little shaky on how to proceed. But, hey, the earth was still populated and women at least had been doing this since the beginning of mankind, so it couldn’t be that hard…right? Sam took a deep breath and steadied his voice as much as he could. “Well, just…I don’t know…push, I guess.”

“’S what I _am_ doing, Sam. Fucking hell!” Dean grabbed the seat back and curled forward as far as he possibly could. The contractions weren’t stopping now. He must have been having them all day long and didn’t realize what was going on because now the pain was fierce and constant and just came in rising and diminishing waves. The pressure on his pelvis was unbelievable. He felt like one more push was going to crack him clean in-fucking-half.

Down between his raised knees, Sam was still gawping a little and fumbling for his phone. “Can’t exactly call 911, little brother,” Dean said tightly.

“I know. I’m calling Marissa. She must know something about how to do this. Because— _fuck—_ Dean, I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

“You know how to do…everything, Sammy,” Dean ground out as another contraction stabbed into his back and clawed forward around his middle, forcing even more downward pressure on his belly and pelvis. “Jesus, fuck! Sam! Please, do something…this fucking hurts!”

Dean was on the very real edge of hysteria, and that was scaring the ever loving hell out of Sam. Dean was better than anyone Sam had ever met at ignoring pain, or simply working through it or with it until he could kill it with alcohol, medicine, or fury. To see his brother unravel like this turned Sam’s stomach into a cold, hard weight inside him that made him feel sick.

He pressed Marissa’s speed dial. “Marissa? Yeah, it’s Sam. Uh…complication? Dean’s giving birth.” Long pause on the line. “Now. In the car. No, I’m very serious. I have no idea how that witch managed it, but she was apparently pretty fucking thorough. He’s got a—.”

“Sammy! I don’t want to know!” Dean yelled loud enough that Marissa was able to hear over the line.

“Yeah, you could say he’s in a lot of pain,” Sam said. “I don’t know…Dean, how far apart are the contractions?”

Dean clenched a hand on the steering wheel, twisting his hips against the pressure and grunting hard with another push. “They fucking aren’t!”

“Uh, I’m thinking they’re pretty constant,” Sam relayed. “Uh, the head? Yeah, actually I can see it—.”

“You can?” Dean’s eyes popped open. “You can see the head?”

Sam looked up, eyes all innocent. “Yeah, I can.”

“What’s it look like?” Dean asked eagerly, pain momentarily somehow forgotten. 

Sam grinned despite himself. “Uh, dark, wet, messy…like me,  guess.”

Dean gave a rough laugh, but it was cut off by another pain that sent him pitching forward again, groaning and straining into a push.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s feeling the urge to push,” Sam continued into the phone. “Uh-huh…Dean, Marissa says it’s called the ‘bearing down’ phase. You’re actually really close now, she says.” He nodded at something else Marissa said, then reached to push one of Dean’s thighs a little out of the way of the light so he could see better. “No, no blood. Some fluid, though. Normal…good. Okay….okay. Thanks.”

Sam dropped the phone into the footwell. He squeezed Dean’s thigh. “I’m going to check the trunk for a blanket or something, okay? Be right back.” Sam popped the trunk and found a spare blanket and a duffle with some of their clothes that had apparently never made it into the cabin. He could use the t-shirts if he had to. He slammed the trunk closed and dropped back to his knees between Dean’s thighs just as his brother started bearing down in earnest with another even stronger contraction.

“Sammy, I can’t—I can’t do this!” Dean reached out a flailing hand and Sam caught it firmly with his own. “Please…Sam…make it stop.”

“I can’t do that, Dean,” Sam said, unfurling the blanket and sliding it up under Dean’s hips. “But we can do it together. Marissa is only about an hour away. She says this could happen really fast now. You’re already fully dilated if we can see the baby’s head, so it shouldn’t be long now. It’s easy. Just…push. She said whenever you feel the urge, to just push. But not too hard when he starts to crown, or you’ll tear.”

“Easy?” Dean ground out, hips bucking up and apart with another contraction. He jerked on Sam’s hand. “Anything about this look fucking easy, Sam?”

Sam worked his fingers free so he could unzip the duffle and root out some usable clothes as blankets or towels. “Okay, poor choice of words, but it is a natural process, so just…go with it.”

Dean wasn’t listening though, his last breath got lodged in his chest as the almighty mother of contractions squeezed down on his belly and ripped a hoarse cry from his throat. The baby’s head strained against his opening, stretching him further. He fought against the tearing  pain and tried to bring his knees back together, but Sam’s big hands braced them apart, stroking soothingly down the sensitive skin of the inside of his thighs.

“Dean, relax. Breathe. It’s really important that you keep breathing. You’re doing good. Really good. The head’s getting closer. I can see a lot more of it than I could just a few minutes ago. I think he’s almost ready to crown.”

Dean panted, huffed, strained against the pain squeezing his belly down to a hard mass that was forcing itself down and out between his legs. Fuck! He’d never hurt so bad in his entire life! He’d take Alistair and his fucking arsenal over this any day of eternity. 

Sam was still stroking him, still talking in that soft, even tone he used when he was trying to calm down some poor freaked out bastard that had just seen his first crazed spirit.

“That’s it, Dean, push slow. Slow and strong. That’s it…you’re doing great. He’s definitely crowning. Just a little more. Take it easy…”

Dean had started pushing again without even realizing it. He was focusing on the feel of Sam’s hands on his thighs, stroking them gently, urging them apart like he did before he went down on him sometimes, or fucked him silly into a mattress. It was probably seriously perverted of him to think of anything so erotic while he was pushing his own son into the world, but it took the edge off the pain, so…fuck it.

Sam caught on to the fact that Dean was focusing on his hands and where they were, so he kept stroking down and in toward the bulging, straining opening where their son’s head was very slowly stretching Dean open and emerging one slow fraction of an inch at a time. It drew Dean’s focus down to the point where his pushes were becoming almost tactical in nature, using the pain and pressure he felt in his belly and pelvis to urge the baby downward and out.

Sam’s eyes went wide the second the curve of their son’s tiny ear came in view. “Holy shit, Dean!”

“What? What!” Dean momentarily lost his focus as Sam’s hand froze in astonishment. 

“There’s an ear!” Sam whispered. He tentatively traced the tiny bit of flesh.

“That’s…great, Sam…but— _fucking God!—_ this burns like a son of a bitch, Sammy!”

“Sorry!” Sam immediately went back to his rhythmic stroking, bring his hands closer and closer to their son’s emerging head, caressing the wet, dark curve of his skull with his thumbs every time his hands came down to the apex of Dean’s thighs. “Jesus, Dean, you should see this…”

“Not, really, Sam…no.” Dean pulled up on the steering wheel and seat back with a particularly strong urge to bear down, almost sitting up fully. “Can feel it…just fine. Oh…God damn!”

Sam’s hands came to rest at the juncture of Dean’s groin and thighs. He squeezed lightly. “That’s it, Dean! You’re doing it! Keep pushing. Keep pushing! He’s almost out. Oh my, God, Dean…!”

Dean let the pain wave through him, channeling it down around the too hard curve of his straining belly to the stretched and burning space between his thighs that was framed by Sam’s huge hands. It peaked and he could hear his own hoarse cries like they were coming from someone else as the pressure in his pelvis increased exponentially and then suddenly…he felt like his insides were coming out of him in a rushing tide, the pain flooding out of him past the broken dam and out into Sam’s capable, waiting hands.

“D-Dean…?” Sam’s voice was shaky with relief and elation. “Dean, I’ve got him.”

A small, but fiercely angry wail filled up the inside of the Impala coupled with Sam’s uncertain, sobbing laugh.

“Oh my, God, Dean. I’ve really got him. He’s really here!” Sam said again.

Dean was flopped and panting against the driver’s door, one arm slung across the seat back, the other over the steering wheel much like he might have been if he were just taking a catnap in the front seat. He was panting with his exertions, but his body was mostly blessedly numb in the aftermath. He was dimly aware of Sam on his knees still, wiping the howling baby in his hands clean and wrapping him awkwardly in a combination of his and Dean’s t-shirts.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sam.” Dean tried to keep his eyes open and focused but he was beat, more tired than he had been in…forever.

“You okay, Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m good. How’s he look?”

Sam ducked carefully into the car, one knee on the seat between Dean’s legs, the other in the footwell. He had a squirming bundle in the crook of his arm. “Wanna see for yourself?”

Sam leaned in and gingerly transferred the bundle to Dean’s chest, waiting for his brother to cradle the tiny mass before he let go. “Marcus, say hi to your daddy,” Sam whispered.

It had been years since Dean had held a baby. The last one had been Sammy about twenty years ago, but somehow his muscles instantly remembered, and he had the infant’s weight held securely to his chest. The tiny face was wrinkled and still a little wet and scrunched up in anger at being taken from his warm cocoon. His tiny hands were just poking up out of the bundle of t-shirts and Dean quickly counted his fingers.

“Ten, that’s good,” he whispered. “That’s real good.” The baby let out a particularly angry squall and Dean bounced him a little. “I know how you feel, little guy. Trust me. We had a pretty rough time of it, didn’t we? But it’s okay now. It’s okay. We’ve got you. We’ve got you now.”

Dean’s voice started breaking at the end, and he swallowed against the hard lump in his throat and the hot prickle of tears in his eyes. “Damn it…”

“Dean…” Sam brushed his knuckles against Dean’s cheek and jaw. “Dean, it’s okay.”

Dean looked up and saw the same swell of love and pride and fierce protection mirrored in his brother’s eyes right along with his tears. He nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. It’s all okay now.” He touched the tip of his finger to Marcus’ bottom lip and was rewarded with a little fist curling tightly around it and a warm little mouth latching on. “Hey, Marcus, hey…welcome to life, little guy.”


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for the tooth rotting fluff, because you knew it was in here somewhere...

“Dean?”

Sam leaned into the nursery—it was definitely a nursery now complete with a mountain of teddy bears in the corner, a mobile of the planets in front of the window, a musical nightlight that played colors and shapes on the walls in the dark, a rocking chair, and a mobile above the crib with little stuffed classic cars in bold colors. Sam had no idea where Jody had come by that one, but Dean had been nearly ecstatic over it.

Sam peered through the soft light and spotted Dean in the rocking chair, one knee pulled up in the seat with him, Marcus curled into a tiny ball on his shoulder, both sound asleep. Sam smiled, crossed his arms and leaned into the door. He wondered now, looking at father and son why he had ever doubted Dean’s attachment to their son. For all Dean’s bluster, and yes he still had a lot of that, he was the most doting, devoted, loving, and protective father Sam could ever imagine. Only Sam didn’t have to. Dean was finally himself again. This was Dean as he was always meant to be, like he had been when Sam was barely old enough to remember.

He moved into the room silently on the balls of his feet and carefully took Marcus’ weight in his hands. It never ceased to amaze him how tiny their son was. He hadn’t expected a ten pounder or anything especially with the nature of his conception and small size of Dean’s belly, but Marcus barely filled both of Sam’s hands even at three weeks old, and it made him a little nervous every time he touched him.

“You won’t break him.”

Sam sighed. “I was trying not to wake you.”

Dean smiled in the dark. “Wasn’t really asleep. Just…enjoying.”

Sam smiled back, and lifted Marcus against his chest to keep him cuddled close until he could lay him down in his crib with a soft kiss to his cheek. “Sweet dreams, little guy.”

Dean stood, stretched upward, and came to stand by Sam at the crib. He put a hand between his brother’s shoulder blades and stroked. “How you doin’, Sammy?”

“Me? I’m fine,” Sam said, a little confused. “How are you?”

Dean shrugged a little, his free hand ghosting across his belly. It was flat and firm again, just as if nothing of any supernatural nature had ever taken root inside of him. He sighed almost inaudibly. “A little empty?”

“Really?” Sam said in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d ever miss that.”

“Mostly no, I guess. But it was easier to protect him…know that he was okay.” Dean shrugged again, leaned in to brush the backs of his knuckles against his sleeping son’s cheek. “Guess I forgot what it was like to worry all the time.”

“Even with me around, huh?” Sam teased.

Dean punched him lightly. “You’re a big boy now. Got a boy of your own. I don’t need to look out for you anymore.” Sam stared, slightly stricken. Dean’s face turned serious with concern. “Sammy, I was only joking. I’m always gonna look out for you. You know that.”

“No. I mean—yeah! Yeah, I know. I just. I guess I never really thought about the fact that…I’m a dad now.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow. “Well, yeah, dummy. It’s not like I did it all by myself.”

Sam gaped at the tiny body in the crib like he was seeing it for the first time. “But…I’m a dad!”

Dean grinned. “Yeah, little brother. Welcome to the big leagues.”

Sam blinked, still wide eyed in wonder. “Wow.”

Dean tugged at his elbow. “Come on, Daddy, let’s get you to bed. I think you’re a little punch drunk on too little sleep. Too many midnight feedings.”

Sam followed Dean out into the hallway and back to their bedroom. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think he’ll love us?”

Dean gave Sam a gentle push onto the bed and then crawled under the covers beside him. “Of course he will, Sam. It’s what kids do.”

“But we’ll deserve it, won’t we? I mean, we’re going to be good parents, right?”

Dean pulled back on Sam’s shoulder until he obediently laid back. “Sam, we’ll do what all parents do—what mom did, what dad did, what Bobby did…. We’ll do the best we can.”

“Will it be good enough?” Sam asked in a small voice.

Dean pulled Sam over into his arms. “That’s the thing about parents and kids, Sam. No matter what screw up mistakes the parents make, the kids still love them, unless their true psychopathic fuck-ups or something—which we aren’t.”

“We aren’t? But we hunt monsters for a living.”

“That makes us heroes, Sam. Remember? I told you that.”

Sam thought back to that night years and years ago when Dean had made one last ditch effort to keep their dad on his pedestal. _The first thing you gotta know, Sammy, is that Dad’s a real hero._

“But what if something happens to us? To…you?” Sam was snuggling in closer on Dean’s chest, and Dean could feel the trembling in his little brother’s limbs. 

“Sam, we’re gonna be all right. I promise. One day at a time. That’s how you do it. Okay?” Dean kissed Sam’s forehead and pressed his nose into his hair. “Now go to sleep, Sam. You’re gonna need it. I got up with him last night.”

Sam smiled at the teasing in Dean’s voice but didn’t answer to it except to bury himself further into the warm curve of his brother’s body. “Love you, Dean.”

“Love you, too, Sam.”


End file.
